


Let us not talk falsely now, the hours are getting late

by nharidy



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: A heist going wrong because one (1) of our boys was an idiot, Blow Jobs, M/M, Martín takes care of Andrés (relcutantly) then takes care of him again (eagrly), Smut, They're cops, but it's fine, like some people die, show typical violence, some post-danger fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:41:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28261068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nharidy/pseuds/nharidy
Summary: He knows in the marrow of his bones that if he didn’t leave him right there and then he never will, he knows in his heart that if he stretched a hand of protection then he’ll be bound to him forever.OrThe boys have some post-danger fun. Set very early in their relationship. In this house we throw away all that 10 years bullshit, who the hell has time for that.
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote
Comments: 6
Kudos: 31





	Let us not talk falsely now, the hours are getting late

**Author's Note:**

  * For [colorfulcharades](https://archiveofourown.org/users/colorfulcharades/gifts).



Martín isn't a selfish, self-absorbed asshole as people call him. He really isn't. But the universe has rules. The most important of these rules is that every action has a consequence. Every cause has an effect. There are no random events. There are no causeless accidents. Even accidents that might seem as if they have no cause, you just have to look closely enough, trace it all to the beginning and you'll find a sequence of small incidents. Now, this might not be a rule of the universe itself, but it definitely is a rule of Martín's; so it has the same weight: the cause of the error should be the only one who handles the consequences. Martín is definitely not entitled enough, if the fault goes back to him, he'll gladly handle the consequences. The fault always is someone's. The arrogant son of a bitch is wrong, chaos doesn't erupt by itself. Martín knows that oh so well, he would never deny that most of the chaos that erupts around him is of his intentional doing. Andrés only likes to believe this so that he wouldn't be held accountable for  _ his  _ mistakes. But Martín will be damned if he let him.

This is not Martín's fault. His calculations were right to every single digit. His part of the plan went perfectly. He would have gladly handled the other parts too if he wasn't arrogantly told off. The consequences of his mistakes should only fall on  _ him _ . And if it ends up killing him, so be it. It's only fair.

_ Brilliant _ , Andrés had called him after their last job after the original plan had gone wrong and Martín managed to still walk away with exactly all the money they planned to take, leaving no trace behind. He praised Martín's ability to improvise, to reach any rising problem. But he's a fool. Martín doesn't improvise. Martín simply predicts every possible outcome and thinks of infinite ways to handle it beforehand.

The only reason he didn't this time is because he wasn't allowed to. Because Andrés wanted the fun of it. The surprise, the sudden game. 

And because Martín let him. Martín gave him what he asked for without thinking. He saw the wide smile on his face and surrendered. 

_ Fuck _

Still, this doesn't make it his fault. He won't endanger himself for him. Don't assume Martín is a disloyal son of a bitch, por favor. He is simply a logical man. He wouldn't have survived this long if he was willing to put himself in danger for every passing man, no matter how beautiful they are either.

This will neither be the first nor the last time that he leaves someone on the field. Andrés is no different from anyone else he’s worked with. There is no reason he should be. It’s not personal and he owes him nothing. This is pure business and Martín had told him. He was honest enough. He told him that if it comes down to it Martín would let him die or get caught. He owes him nothing.

If he didn’t take Martín seriously then it’s his own fault, the blame can’t be put on Martín.

Martín should have stopped working with him a while ago in the first place. Not they don’t work well together, quite the contrary actually. They work  _ too  _ well. He’s smart, incredibly so, he reads Martín effortlessly, he needs only to glance at him from across the room and he would know what to do, would match Martín’s own movements as he was half his body. And he’s ambitious, his greed an equal match to Martín’s. Perhaps even more, he leaves nothing untasted from life. But if their seeming similarities were supposed to make Martin trust him, it did anything but. Martín knows the likes of Andrés, he knows how entitled men like him are, they walk around the world leaving destruction where they please and they expect people to clear up their messes. Martín doesn't clean after anyone.

For Martín, work is just like sex. He works with people instead of just by himself for the same reason another man's ass or mouth is preferable to his own hand. And to both he sticks to his  _ boom boom ciao _ . Things never get personal with him, he doesn't allow it to. This would simply be foolish and Martín is anything but a foolish man. Blurred lines aren't for him, things must stay behind their bold lines. Sex mustn’t get mingled with emotions and work mustn’t get mingled with friendship. 

It’s a simple formula.

This is why Martín has grown wary of Andrés. A different wariness than when they had just started working together and Martín distated him, but his intelligence and skills were too valuable to throw down the gutter with him. He wishes things had stayed this way. But no, this wariness started with Andrés offering him a glass of wine from a bottle that didn’t match the scruppy motel room they hid in for the night after a heist. It started with the way he offered it to Martín, with none of the loftiness Martin had previously associated with him, he offered it with a glint of shared pride instead, with tentativeness even, a slight hint of vulnerability that disarmed Martín, he offered it as if he was offering something else, something akin to friendship.

It started in the way he answered Martín’s snarky comments with unexpected honesty, to the extent that Martín was jarred by a tinge of guilt that Andrés didn’t read the joking nature and mistook it for genuine interest. Like when Martín made a joke questioning Andrés’ intention that same motel night when he chose to share Martín’s room instead of Sergio’s -there were only two rooms left- and Andrés answered that Sergio can’t stand sharing a room with anyone and went on a tirade about Sergio’s childhood, what he was like, what Andrés and him used to do, how worried Andrés that he would never recover. Something tugged at Martín then, listening to him with this fond tone, an affection for him, an immediate urge to protect him, it terrified Martín, and so he, out of desperation that the words would force down their truth into the world, told him that if something goes wrong due to him or his brother, Martín won’t hesitate to abandon them. Andrés only nodded all too quickly and shrugged it off, as if Martín was a child threatening to run away from home if he wasn’t brought ice-cream. 

He didn’t take Martín for his word, disregarded his words as an empty threat, but it was neither empty nor a threat, it was just who Martin is: a practical man. 

Or maybe he did believe Martín, but it made no difference to him. As if he had already known, as if he had already expected the inevitability of betrayal and abandonment. 

Good. They are both practical men then. So this shouldn't feel as wrong as it does.

He’s nearly out, running through the upper floor, and he glances at Andrés, surrounded by the three cops, through the stairs and he knows in the marrow of his bones that if he didn’t leave him right there and then he never will, he knows in his heart that if he stretched a hand of protection then he’ll be bound to him forever. 

This is simply not who he is. 

He turns to leave when the movement downstairs catches his eyes. Not that there is movement per se, no, he expected that. It’s the  _ attack  _ from  _ Andrés. _ Andrés knows this job as well as Martín, he knows that under this circumstances you  _ never _ initiate the attack, you never even bite back, not when they’ve had you cornered and alone like that, because oh they are waiting for you to make the tiniest of moves to start redling your body with bullets, they are eager for you to do it so that they get to spell your blood and receive praise after, almost daring you, and oftentimes they won’t wait for anything. Martín wasn’t unaware of this when he turned to move, he wasn’t unaware that Andrés might die at their hands, but he doesn’t understand why he’s intentionally angering them, why he’s attacking when he has a much better chance of escaping later unless…

_ Oh _

He’s making sure Martín has enough time to run. He’s protecting Martín at the expense of his own safety.

Martín is hit by a pang of hot shame. His hypothesis is confirmed when Andrés tilts his head slightly upwards and throws him the smallest of glances. It only took a fraction of a second but Martín saw it in the length of the time their eyes looked, saw the permission, the acceptance, the  _ understanding _ .

Who the fuck does he think he is?

Martín wasn’t allowed to ponder further, for amidst the seconds where Andrés made his move on one of them, another one raised his gun, leveled it at Andrés and Martin recognized it immediately; the blood-thirst, the aim to kill, not to prevent, and before Martín knew what his hands had done, he saw the oozing hole in the officer’s head and the collapse of his body. There is no going back now, so he raised his gun to the third officer and shot him. The gun fell out, followed by his body. Andrés was taking care of the left officer he had under his arm, raising his face with an open smile that Martín couldn’t help but return as he made his way to him.

Andrés pulled him and they ran through the backdoor, giddy and breathless, too giddy for what they had just done. They run to the car, once Andrés started driving, laughter erupted between them. It was slightly  _ wrong, _ disturbed by a jitter of nervousness, weighed down, not by guilt, no, they did what they had to do, but something else transpassing between them. They got out with none of what they went to steal, but they were alive and well, both of them. At the back of Martín’s head he’s aware of the choice he has made, aware by the wash of relief that he doesn’t understand yet over Andrés’ wellness.

Martín rolled down the window and screamed into the night air, Andrés turned to look at him and laughed, shaking his head.

Martín opened the bottle of champagne in celebration, and in immediate need for alcohol. He took out his upper half through the window, stuck the bottle to his lips and closed his eyes as the car went through the tunnel, letting the wind ruffle his hair. 

After a minute, Andrés tug at his legs. He went back down, laughing and offered the bottle to him. 

Andrés shook his head, smiling. “I’m driving”

Martín chuckled, when Andrés added nothing, he raised his eyebrows. “What? Now you’re concerned for your safety?”, there is a hint of sharpness that disturbs the playful tone, a hint staining enough that Andrés turned to him, his eyes serious and brows furrowed, “Where was that self-preservation when you attacked the armed cop?”, he stuck the bottle to his lips again.

Andrés stared at him for a second and Martín stared back as intensely, as demandingly. Andrés turned to the wheel and planted an easy smile on his face. “That was necessary, drinking in the middle of running away, however, isn’t, wouldn’t you say so?”, he smirked, “We need to remain sharp, they might still be after-”

“Why did you do it?”, there was no remaining playfulness in Martín’s tone.

“What? I was supposed to stand helpless, to not defend myself?”, Andrés turned to him, the words are meaningless, they both know it, but the tone is aiming to shut Martín up, leaving no place for further discussion, and the look in his eyes is only spelling  _ ‘you know why _ ’, but this is dangerous territory, breaching a border Martín doesn’t want to cross, not until he understands it all within himself first. So he listens to Andrés and shuts up.

He leaned his head back and let his heavy gaze be dragged by the moving car, his eyes glossy and hazy. The night air is chilling against his hot cheeks, swirling between his hair. He watched the city lights merging into each other, creating clouds of colors and light. 

______________

A voice is coming from a far, muffled, but tugging at a thread reaching the back of his head. It repeats and Martín wants to swish it away but his head and body are weighed by something.

"Martín"

He jerks slightly, opening his eyes. Andrés is standing outside the car, outside the passenger seat and holding the door open, as he's bowing slightly, his other hand is lightly on Martín's shoulder.

"We're here"

Martín makes to move. As he gets up, a coat slides down his body. He frowned slightly and picked it, Andrés had already moved deeper into the garage, so Martín shut the door and followed him, the coat folded on his arm.

The place is as they have gotten it prepared for the night. The mattress with the blankets on the floor, the makeshift kitchen, the guns and vests huddled on the side. 

If Martín had just met Andrés he would have been surprised at the choice, but not anymore. He finds that despite Andrés' reluctance to associate himself with places like this, he moves almost naturally, instinctively among them. He's very practical too, economical, Martín had discovered, he can arrange so much in a small room, and still add to it a touch of space, knows how to move without brushing and hitting, unlike Martín who often has the feeling that's if he just breathes deeply, the frail room would collapse around him, he's too messy that a place four time its size would feel more crowded under Martín's touch, but not Andrés, who can make a palace out of a nest, if by imagination alone. He throws the coat on the mattress and stretches his back, throwing his head backwards, inhaling deeply. He turns at the heavy feel of eyes on him, Andrés is leaning his weight on the cold wall, something playful in his gaze.

"So much for each man for himself, no?", Andrés teases, way too soon.

Martín swallows. "I could have left you there”, he says, then adds,” and you would have been left nothing but a huddle of blood and torn flesh on the floor", he forces a smile as he walks slowly to him. The anger in his tone doesn't match Andrés' playfulness, he doesn't know which of them it's directed more at.

Andrés is not disturbed however, he only clicks his tongue. "ah. But you didn't"

"I was going to", Martín insists. It comes weaker than he intended, with a hoarse voice. It's childish and immature, clinging to a dying argument, a lost defense. He's an exposed man covering his privates with transparent hands.

Andrés doesn't laugh nor chuckle, he only repeats, softly, quietly, determinedly. "but you didn't".

His gaze and tone are taunting.

Martín turns away, it has been a long night and he's tired, but Andrés moves nearer behind him, he doesn’t speak, but his insistence colored the air. Martin sighs.

“I wouldn’t have had to come back if you didn’t think out of your ass and started attacking three officers that had you cornered and disarmed, and we wouldn’t have had to do this in the first place if you’d listened to me-”, the words were slipping out, overlapping on each other, shaken by Martin’s anger, fear too, he realized now.

“This should have given you all the more reason to walk away, no?”, he says quietly.  _ What the fuck does he want?  _ "Instead you killed two men for me. You turned your case from that of theft to murder, risking a life-time in prison", his voice is heavier,  _ provoking _ , "like a captured wild animal, and yet you claim-"

Martín snapped.

He had his hand fisted on the collar of Andrés' shirt, his other hand cupping the side of his face, soft and warm under Martín's calloused hand, softer still were his lips. His unmoving lips.  _ Fuck _ . 

_ This was too much, too much _ . He crossed all the boundaries, not just his own, but Andrés’ too. A man who trusted him, all nonsense aside, a man who showed him nothing but respect. And friendship too, genuine friendship. And instead of accepting it with gratitude, he mocked it, time and time again. This was nothing but another mockery, shoving what Andrés had offered him in his face, mutilated and torn, like a spoiled brat would. It was a mockery of Andrés, yes.

Except that it wasn't.

He pulled away slowly like pulling off a bandit, Andrés was standing still, as he had the past few seconds, he seemed as if he neither inhaled nor exhaled, petrified still by Martín's touch. His eyes were half-shut, determinedly so. 

"I'm sorry..uh, I didn’t mean to-"

Martín let go of his shirt and started moving his hand away from Andrés' chest, his own heart pounding out of his rips. But Andrés’ hand flew immediately, like a corpse’s from folktales; caughting Martín's and pinning it in place, on his chest.

He still wasn't looking at him, his eyes completely hooded, what's apparent from them are gazing far, outside of Martín.

He didn’t let go of his hand. 

Martín leaned in again, this time slowly, aware of his own breathing and he tips Andrés backward, not pushing, just a slight nudge that lingers, but Andrés moves back anyway and Martín meets his lips as Andrés' back meets the wall. 

It all melts out of him. Weights he knew he carried and weights that were invisible on his shoulders. His lips are soft and full between Martín's and it catches the breath from Martín's lungs, it’s as if he only just became aware now how much he wanted it. He licks at his lower lip and Andrés parts his lips for him, slightly hesitant and Martin wants to assure him that he doesn’t need to be, that he’ll take care of him, that he  _ wants to _ , but he can’t part from his lips for the life of him and Andrés doesn’t allow it anyway, he raises his hands and clutches Martín’s face between his palms, unleashing his mouth on Martín’s; tongue and teeth and hot breath, deep groans and sultry moans.

Martín’s hand moved over Andrés’ shoulder, throwing off the jacket on the dirty floor. Andrés’ hand on the nape of his neck bringing him closer, his other hand on Martín’s arm was no longer hesitant, but uncertain, he would make to move it, but it wouldn’t go far, as if he didn’t know what to do with it. It hit Martín then that this is most-likely his first time with a man, he forced himself to slow down. He opened the rest of Andrés’ shirt buttons slower, after he was nearly going for ripping it apart, and slid his hand inside, passing it all over his chest, he rubbed his open palm over his nipple and Andrés shivered, biting harder on Martín’s lips. Martín opened the first few buttons of his own shirt quickly and pulled away to take it over his head. He got the chance to take a good look at Andrés face, they were both breathless, but Martín stood back for a second, letting Andrés take it in too. To make sure this is what he truly wants. His face was deeply flushed and eyes dark and heavy, he looked the most dishevelled since he had met him, but the most beautiful, the most elegant and luminous, the most  _ alive _ . Andrés moved his hand over Martín’s abdomen up to his chest, his hands moved slowly, exploring, and despite the fire taking over Martín’s entire body, despite the boiling deep below, despite the aching of his erection, he stood completely still, until Andrés pushed them backwards, until Martín’s foot hit the mattress and Andrés pushed him down, landing on top of him.

He stuck his wet lips on Martin’s neck, sucking and biting and licking, they were hot and Martín’s own flesh was already burning. He stuck his hand between their bodies and lowered it to open Andrés' fly, he sighed into Martín’s skin, then pulled back a little and mirrored Martín. He pulled down his jeans and stared at the bulge of Martín’s boxer. Martin saw a faint flush of timidity growing over his face, but as if to compensate for it, he pulled down Martín’s boxer quickly, throwing a slightly too-big -and slightly too wrong- grin at Martín as he hung back on his heels, straightening his shoulders. Martin didn’t move as he stared up at him, it felt as if he had witnessed an actor whirl around to show in his character’s face. Andrés moved to part Martín’s thighs further, reaching between them, way too confidently for someone who just got alarmed at the sight of his dick. His fingers passed over the hole, smirking. Martín frowned and held his wrist to stop him. Andrés looked at him, his brows slightly furrowed, his smile slowly erased. He propped himself up on his elbows and shook his head softly. Before Andrés said anything, Martin reached closer to him and pulled on his chin and brought his lips to his. He kissed him deeply, but unhurriedly and gently. Andrés sighed into his mouth, following Martin’s lips whenever he draws back. Martín held his shoulders and pushed him down, going with him. He pulled back and traced Andres’ face with his fingers,

“Tenga no miedo”

A kiss.

“It’s okay”

Another one.

He moved his lips down his jaw, his neck, his chest, sucking softly. Andrés moaned quietly under him, growing less tense with every kiss, every lick of his tongue, his hand moved to Martín’s hair, his fingers light as they treaded. Martín peppered kisses down his body as he went. He rested a hand on his hip as he sucked on his abdomen, pulling his trousers down and with them his boxers, Andrés shivered under him, the fingers in his hair growing heavy. Martín reached to the inside of his thigh, peppering it with kisses, going up slowly until he buried his nose in the muskiness and opened his lips to swallow him down. Andrés groaned as soon as his lips met him, his fingers tightening around Martín’s hair as he went down, sucking and whirling his tongue. He pinned down his hip with one hand, popping his head up and down, drawing deep, low moans from Andrés, whose hip was bulking under Martín’s hand. His own dick twitched at the sounds and breaths pulled out from Andrés’ throat, he reached down and wrapped his fingers around himself, stroking with the same pace of his mouth. But with every deep groan from Andrés, his hand and mouth would quicken on their own. Andrés was close, he was too, his hips were starting to move erratically. Martín hallowed his cheek and slowly swallowed his entire length down. Andrés’ tightened his fingers almost painfully, as he thrusted shallowly in Martín’s mouth, moaning deeply and loudly, Martín doubted there was any awareness left in him, he was in pieces under him and Martín himself couldn’t hold himself back any more, he thrusted in his fist as he sucked harder on Andrés. Andres gave a few nealy painful-but-not-quite thrusts then came in Martin’s mouth with a silent cry as he arched his back, Martin swallowed, following him right away. 

He propped himself up and laid on his back, panting as he came down. Andrés head fell lightly on his shoulder, panting hard as well.

Martin wrapped his arm around him, bringing him closer, he opened his eyes to Andrés staring at him, a lazy, drunken smile painted on his face. Martín brought his lips to Andrés’, only lightly brushing, leaving Andrés the space to draw back if it disgusted him, but Andrés planted his hand on Martín’s cheek and pulled him in a deep kiss.

They kissed lazily for a moment, Martín smiling in spite of himself onto it.

“You’re not very repulsed, no?”, Andrés drew back and smirked.

“Huh?”

“You don’t seem to be rejecting the body, after its poison was spilled inside your body now”, he raised his eyebrow, a small playful grin dancing on his face.

Martín’s brain took a few seconds to catch on then he laughed. He didn’t think Andrés either paid attention nor remembered his  _ boom boom ciao  _ speech. He only displayed it once, about a year ago in a dinner before their first job.

Despite how well it went, Andrés had gone months before reaching out to Martín again, Martín had believed that he wouldn’t, after he disappeared right after they divided their shares. He can understand a little better now why Andrés had disappeared. Martín was scared of  _ it  _ too, whatever it was that grew too quickly, too irrationally between them.

Martín decided to return his honesty for once.

“No”, he said softly, intently, looking him in the eyes “I’m not”

Andrés only nodded and laid his head on Martín’s chest, Martín pulled him closer then pulled the blanket up around them, warming Andrés’ back with his rubbing under it. It was supposed to be strange, Martín had never held anyone after sex, had rarely even remained in the same bed, and he truly never wanted to. But it didn’t feel strange at all with Andrés, it felt the most natural thing in the world, as if his body was only made to hold his.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Dun, between the time I was told that I would be your Secret Santa and now, we became friends, you're as good of a person as you are of a writer and it has been my greatest pleasure to come to know you. I hope you like this! (and that it at least matches a little bit what you had in mind)
> 
> Merry Christmas


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